


Lake Calenhad Days

by Bliss_Smith



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, arguments and ambushes, group shot, heading into headcanon territory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 09:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15748617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bliss_Smith/pseuds/Bliss_Smith
Summary: Timeline is post-Redcliffe Village and first trip to Denerim/ambush by the Haven cultists at Lake Calenhad.  (My) Storyline places this directly after Under the Influence of the Moon and Stars.This story came from two things: the title popped into my head and wouldn't leave, and I needed a way to set up for the pure headcanon stories that are going to follow. Easy enough to mash them up.





	1. Chapter 1

No one makes a comment, none of the traveling companions even give the slightest indication that they plan to on the road to Lake Calenhad. Everyone knows, of course. They still do their best to be discreet, to keep their noisy times confined to late night walks as far away from camp as they can safely go, but it’s all but impossible to hide the fact that they now share a tent. That they share everything. 

 

Of course, they could all merely be distracted by the assassin who joined them two days after she and Alistair started sleeping together. Most of the quizzical looks she gets seem to revolve around that. Even Alistair has given her one or two, but since he also gives her his unwavering support even on decisions he doesn’t agree with, she doesn’t mind. He’s certainly allowed his own opinions, and it’s not like she doesn’t understand why the decision seems a poor choice. 

 

She couldn’t bring herself to kill Zevran after the attack, after he so willingly gave up all the information they needed. Verifiable information, no less, that neatly dovetails with what they already know about Loghain’s efforts to remove the only two people left with enough political potential to stop him. She won’t kill him and can’t let him go, so why not take his oath of service and use it against the man who hired him? 

 

Still, in the ten days it takes them to get back to Lake Calenhad something starts building among them all. They’re still just bare months outside of Lothering, of becoming a diverse group of people traveling together under a common goal. She’s a natural born leader, a trait inherited from both her parents, but she’s still only 20, with no experience to draw on other than a pampered life as the spoiled and headstrong favorite child of the second-highest noble in Ferelden. That and the seven years' worth of training as a warrior that’s made her one of the most talented fighters in the country, but she’s not trying to fight these people. Just the opposite: she’s trying to convince them to keep fighting with her, under the banner she’s somehow wound up carrying. 

 

Gather an army and fight the archdemon—that’s the extent of the plans they’ve been able to make. Everyone who could advise them on what else, exactly, they're supposed to do is either dead or too far out of reach. Gather an army and fight is all they know to do, and if their army consists of the small, ragtag group that’s mostly gathered under her, well, that’s what she’ll have to fight with. That and her determination, and the backing and skill of her beloved. 

 

She can’t help but feel optimistic, that with her determination and his reverent faith in her, they might just pull this off. 

 

But then she leads them straight into an ambush at the lake, and things start to look a little less easy. 

 

~*~ 

 

She and Alistair go inside The Spoiled Princess alone, no one suspecting a thing. Of course, there isn’t anything to suspect until after they speak to the far too nervous innkeeper, but that’s far too late to be of any help. They’re both on high alert as they step back outside, but it doesn’t matter; everyone is still caught off guard by the small swarm of people who seem to spring up whole from the bushes. 

 

“I need them alive,” she yells, making sure everyone hears and understands. She has a lot of very important questions and she plans to get answers for every one of them. 

 

Unfortunately, that means the attackers hear as well. They fight to the death, nothing less, even throwing themselves on their weapons to keep from being captured and questioned. 

 

All Mistral is left with is a pile of dead bodies, and no clues why they were set up. The idea that she'll have to go all the way back to Denerim to find out is infuriating. She doesn’t have that kind of time. 

 

Her companions don’t have that kind of patience. Whatever irritations have been building are bubbling over among the corpses. 

 

And of course, it’s Morrigan who runs her mouth first. 

 

“So, too busy with family reunions and buying your precious hair ribbons to realize you were being set up? How utterly astonishing. I am shocked, I tell you, simply...” 

 

She cuts off as Mistral turns, whirls like she’s on a dance floor as she plucks the shield from her back and wings it at Morrigan. She’s not aiming for her, just the ground at her feet. Her aim is true despite the anger driving it. 

 

“You think you can do a better job? Have at it. It’s all yours.” 

 

“And this is why women should not be warriors. Or leaders.” Sten says. 

 

She spins to him, taking two steps before stopping to slam her sword down in the ground. She knows if she keeps it on her back she’s going to cut someone. She’s not mad enough to kill them. And not so mad at them that she hasn’t reserved some of it for herself. 

 

“That’s fine, Sten, since your dick gives you special powers and you know so much more than I do, go right ahead, step right the fuck up and lead us. Show us your plan to end this fucking Blight.” 

 

They don’t respond, either of them. They turn their matching expressions to each other before turning away. 

 

She spares Alistair a fast look, needing to see what his expression might be. Anger and support. Sadness, too, that it’s come to this already. She lifts her chin and turns her attention back, making sure to give everyone a look. No one is exempt from this conversation. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Either step up and lead, since I’m doing such a piss-poor job, or shut the fuck up. Or leave, that’s always an option for any one of you. You don’t like me or how I’m doing this? I don’t care. Step up, shut up, or get the fuck out. You have a fortnight to decide, while I’m running my ass back to Denerim to kill a lying motherfucker. Whoever is still here when I get back, we’ll talk then.”

 

“Had you done that in the first place instead of spending your time with your head up...”

 

“You need to shut up, Morrigan. Now.” Alistair’s voice is low, but it travels well, a deep, angry rumble that leaves no doubt of his intention and makes everyone pause. Makes them revise their opinion on him somewhat as well, Mistral thinks, but that’s to examine another time.

 

“Why are we wasting time on this anyway? Is this how you intend to end this Blight? Running around the county trying to solve everyone’s problems?” Sten’s voice carries, too.

 

She wants to smack her head in frustration, that she needs to point this out. “No, this is how I intend to gather an army, since it seems we need one of those to fight with. And since the regicide currently attempting to steal the throne and have us killed won’t let us use his army, we must find our own. And guess what we need for that? A live Arl, with his own large regiment of soldiers, and enough political support to maybe help us stay alive long enough to do this fucking job.”

 

She turns back around to address everyone, her back straight and head held high. “You all need to hear it? I fucked up. I let a need to get out of Denerim without causing another scene cloud my judgment on whether I could trust the information being given. I’ll own it, and I will push myself as hard as I can to fix it as quickly as I can. If that’s not good enough. Well. I’ve already laid out the options, haven’t I?”

 

She pauses to catch her breath, to let anyone who wants to speak have a chance. When none do, she gives a small nod. “I’m going to go make the innkeeper a happy man and give him a stupid amount of coin to give everyone a room for the next ten days. You can have a fabulous lakeside vacation or head on down the road. Choice is yours, peace be with you either way. If you do stay, I’d appreciate you all helping the locals if any more of these stupid motherfuckers come back.”

 

She turns and walks off without looking at anyone, too afraid of what they might see. Alistair will see everything, she knows that, but she still tries to pretend she isn’t an open book to most everyone. It seems to be a side effect of opening herself to Alistair, an inability to fully close herself once more. There certainly are worse things to deal with, but that soft openness doesn’t help anyone overlook her hair ribbons and youth.

 

 

 

 

She takes her time inside the inn, letting the cool dark soothe her tired eyes. She makes a point to reassure the innkeeper that the trouble has passed, and if not, there will be a contingent around to keep everyone safe. She may not have luck with the people she travels with, but everyone else always takes to her innate charm, to her calm assurance that things will be right. She’ll make sure of it.

 

She doesn’t yet know it, but she’s building her legacy, already fanning the flames for the hero worship that will eventually settle around her. Stories will be passed down for generations, how the Hero of Ferelden took time out from saving the world to help. To always have a smile and a friendly hand for a frightened arm, to help and share, to always be so sure, so completely optimistic, that good people will always triumph. That love will.

 

When she turns to leave, she finds Alistair leaning against the wall, watching her with such naked pride and adoration she feels the tears prickle behind her eyes. How can she leave him already, even if it’s only for a fortnight? The idea is like a stone in her throat, but what choice is there? How can she ask him to go with her without giving Morrigan and Sten more ammunition against her?

 

“Do you want to leave now, or should we try to get in a nap first? I made a deal with the stable hand. We have a decently fast mount that can carry us both. We should have enough moonlight to get a good way tonight.”

 

“You’re going with me?”

 

He grins at that, clearly happy at her reaction. “As soon as you walked in here, Wynne turned to me and said, ‘You’re going with her, right? She won’t listen to anyone else.’ Far be it from me to argue the point.” He gives her a shrug and another smile as he moves to stand closer. “To be perfectly honest, I think she wants us both away from here, so she can talk to the others. Maybe try to get a handle on the personality conflicts. Iron some of them out.”

 

She can’t help the way her back stiffens over that. “I don’t need her fighting my battles, like Nanny playing the peacemaker to force the bickering kiddies to get along.”

 

He steps closer still, something in his eyes she’s not seen before. A rebuke to her? No, not that. Something close, though. Something he needs to point out, that she’s maybe not aware of and maybe won’t like.

 

“Your entire experience with anything resembling leading is dealing with the servants in your castle. You don’t need her fighting your battles, but if she can make the ground a little smoother for us all to walk on, we need that. It isn’t an insult to your ability.”

 

There’s no mistaking the subtext of what he’s saying. It’s no more than what she's thought before, but it still makes her cheeks burn. If it was anyone else saying it, her wounded pride might push her into a bad decision, like punching the mouth that would say such things. But it’s his mouth, the one that whispers to her in the dark and makes her tremble, the one that worships and adores her in every word and deed.

 

She has questions to ask him —֫ _am I a spoiled bitch? An entitled noble brat?_ — but now isn’t the time. Now is the time to get on that horse and see how much of Ferelden they can cross before they must stop for the night.


End file.
